


Clockwork

by phandomoftheowl



Category: Mahabharata - Vyasa, Star Plus Mahabharat, महाभारत | Mahabharat (TV 2013)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Oblivious Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 01:53:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1451029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phandomoftheowl/pseuds/phandomoftheowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is wrong, she thinks to herself at night, when the lamps have been extinguished and the doors to her chambers closed shut. It is wrong to miss your husband’s other wife more than your husband.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clockwork

The days after her _Jiji_ and the Pandavs leave Indraprastha are some of the loneliest for Subhadra. She is back in Dwarka, only days away from giving birth to her child -- her son -- and all she can think is _they should be here for this_. But they are not. There are her brothers and their wives and their children to occupy her time, yet it isn’t the same anymore. 

This palace at Dwarka is no longer her home. These grounds with its magic free walls and its ordinary gardens seem hollow, although it is probably Subhadra’s empty heart’s restlessness echoing rather than any actual fault with the gardens. 

What eats away at her the most is how her heart pangs primarily for her _Jiji_ rather than her husband.

It is wrong, she thinks to herself at night, when the lamps have been extinguished and the doors to her chambers closed shut. It is wrong to miss your husband’s other wife more than your husband. 

_Or is it?_ a traitorous part of her mind whispers to her. 

_Yes,_ she tells it firmly, shutting down those thoughts before drifting into sleep.

The dream is a familiar one. Subhadra is at the edge of an unfamiliar forest, it’s a dark and haunting place and she shivers involuntarily. Some nights she will simply stand by the old, teetering banyan tree that marks where the forest begins, waiting. For what, she cannot figure out. 

Other nights, like tonight, she will take the plunge and step into the forest. (In her dreams, she isn’t with child and it feels significant for some reason.) The forest doesn’t seem as terrifying once she steps through. The darkness dissipates somewhat, showing her a small path, just wide enough for her to walk. A little ways down the worn path is a clearing, lush and green, and there in the midst of the wildflowers and the swaying grass is Draupadi. She looks nothing like the queen Subhadra first saw from her palanquin at the city border, nor does she look like the plainly dressed woman who followed her husbands into exile. 

For Draupadi of her dreams is neither of those things. Draupadi here is dressed in a sari that glints in the sunlight, changing colors every few moments. The sight makes Subhadra dizzy so she looks away and studies Draupadi’s face. Her beauty is unmarred even after months of harsh living. ( _Silly girl, you’re dreaming, of course she doesn’t look affected by exile in your mind._ )

A small quirk of her lips tells Subhadra she is amused, as if she can hear all of Subhadra’s thoughts, and although it is her dream, Subhadra suddenly feels powerless. This is why she chooses simply to stand by the banyan most nights, because even in her dreams Draupadi is larger than life and radiant in every way. _Much too radiant for plain old Subhadra,_ she thinks wryly. 

“Come sit,” Draupadi says, mirth dancing in her eyes as she pats the spot of grass next to her. She does, she can never deny Draupadi anything. 

“Where are you?” Subhadra blurts out, even though she knows what Draupadi will say. It doesn’t stop her from repeating the question every time she sees this dream-Draupadi. 

Sometimes Subhadra feels like a puppet in a play, doomed to repeat the same lines over and over again. This dream does that to her; _Draupadi_ does that to her.

“It matters not,” she says in a lofty voice, as if saying it somehow makes it true.

For once, Subhadra checks her ire. Snapping at a mere projection of Draupadi will not give her answers. 

“Still think this is all in your head, hmm?” Now Draupadi is peering at a patch of trees. The underbrush shudders and a peacock darts between the trees. 

“I’m dreaming,” Subhadra says, feeling foolish for sounding so uncertain. Of course, it is a dream. What else could it be? 

Draupadi turns to her, eyes bright and shining with something Subhadra dares not name. A hand reaches up and strokes her cheek. Subhadra unconsciously leans into the touch, marvelling at how warm Draupadi is even in her dream. Fire born, indeed. 

“Oh, Subhadra.” Draupadi’s hot breath fans against her cheek, and that is when Subhadra realises how close they are. 

Any moment now, she will wake up. 

Draupadi edges closer, shortening the distance between them. Subhadra’s heart thuds wildly in her chest. She can make out every eyelash, every pore. 

Abruptly -- predictably -- Draupadi pulls away, smiling that deeply sorrowful smile.

Like clockwork, the forest dissolves around her, fading until all that is left is the banyan tree and the peacock.


End file.
